Driving around looking for memory in the middle of a snowstorm wasn't the wisest thing to do. The car was disguised in white after every stop, and I didn't find any memories out there that were as cheap as the one sitting at home. Still, the radio played songs by Jane's Addiction that had to be over 14 years old, and the driving was slow, as slow as that one time when we almost didn't make it up the hill and the car flailed around like fish spawning against the current. I mailed away for a memory. Hopefully it's mine and it fits.
but when the mail came and i reached into the engulfing crisp cornered envelope it was me that was lost while my memory was found on the floor by the cleaning lady's chores.
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